


Firing Line

by HannahLydia



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: AU Borderlands 3, Atlas CEO Rhys, Attempted Murder, Jack is Back, M/M, Not your average meet-cute, Promethea - Freeform, Rival CEOs, implied pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahLydia/pseuds/HannahLydia
Summary: “I detect aliiiiiittlebit of resistance there, Rhysie. What gives? Ol’ digi Jack reeled you in hook, line an’ sinker, huh?”Rhys didn’t mean to take the bait, but the way in which his body tensed spoke volumes. As Jack let out an obnoxious whistle, he attempted to slap the other man’s hands off of him, a red flush creeping across his cheeks like a rash of shame. Was hereallythat transparent?--Rhys hadn't been expecting his promising day in the office to go south so fast. Confronted by a homicidal Jack who wants vengeance for the loss of Helios, can Rhys make him see reason before it costs him his life?(Featured in the Rhack Zine)
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	Firing Line

All signs had been pointing to this being a good day. A  _ very  _ good day judging by the caller ID lighting up Rhys’ ECHOcomm. The sight of it prompted a confident, if not cocky, grin to spread across the CEO’s face and he was unable to mask his jovial arrogance as he accepted the incoming call. “ _ Marcus… _ ! Buddy! To what do I owe this honour?” He greeted merrily, leaning back in his chair as he waited for the fawning to begin. 

Oh, he’d known well enough that it was only a matter of time before the munitions mogul came crawling back - he’d been receiving calls from wannabe investors all  _ week _ .   
While Rhys found himself wishing he had a phone cord he could curl around his finger, Marcus’ sucking-up commenced, and the laughter that escaped from him was free and easy. “Hey, Marcus, listen… I get it. Honestly. New kid on the block, uncertain territory…” He drew out the vowels, looking at his buffed nails as he did so. “Look, it was dicey for you, am I right? But, like you said, we’re  _ past _ that now and I’ve gotta say, I have had a  _ lot  _ of interested par---”

_ THMP.  _

A deafening banging sound cut through the conversation. Startled into silence, Rhys’ gaze shot to the opposite end of his office and the entry point there, his grip on the ECHOcomm becoming lax. 

_ Thmp. THMP-THMP-THMP-THMP. _

Not once. Not twice. A constant, panicked crescendo. Even from his position at the far-end of his office he could make out his receptionist’s muffled yell as she desperately called his name.   
Heart leaping into his throat, Rhys immediately sat up to attention. “Marcus? Ahah-ha, y-yeah, uh-- funny story? I’m-- I’m gonna have to call you back,” He barely had a chance to disconnect the call before the thunderous knocks on his door were swallowed in amongst the sound of gunfire.   
Releasing a yelp of horror and surprise, Rhys all but dived under his desk. The graphic mental image conjured up by the spray of bullets pulled no punches; he suddenly came to the realisation that his receptionist was either dead or fatally wounded and he, too, would soon be at the mercy of whoever had fired those rounds. 

_ Shit…! Shit, no-no-no-NO! This is not a good day-! THIS IS NOT A GOOD DAY! _

Was it a robbery? Kidnap? Hostile takeover? Maybe even a vault hunter who’d gotten wind of his (severed) connections to a certain AI? 

It dawned on him that the Crimson Lance’s chain of command must have  _ spectacularly  _ crumbled to have failed to alert him to an impending attack. What was more, his office was in a state of chaotic renovation, and nothing was in progress more so than the planned escape hatch beneath his desk. He was trapped in here, with no way out and only a prototype pistol in his desk drawer with a single ammunition clip.   
Fumbling for it as the doors to his office began to be steadily forced open, Rhys’ hand closed on the gun handle just as two yellow-clad infantrymen prised open the entrance and forced their way inside. He had just been about to duck his head back out of sight when he focused on the intruders… and stalled. Hyperion soldiers. Hyperion soldiers flanking a single man, who strolled between them like a god made flesh.

Nothing could have prepared Rhys for it. All at once it was like he forgot how to breathe. 

He watched in stunned silence as Handsome Jack crossed the threshold in the midst of his complement of Infiltrators. Not a hologram, but tangible -  _ real _ \- and larger than life.  He strode the length of the room towards him, passing crimson chaises still wrapped in plastic and empty floor-to-ceiling aquariums. Rhys’ blood roared louder and louder in his ears with every step the other man took, his eyes widening, his pupils mere pinpricks. The decommissioned ECHOeye that hung on a hidden chain beneath the fabric of his shirt suddenly felt so cold that it was like a freezer-burn against his skin. He fought the impulse to hold it as he might have fought the impulse to pinch himself. 

_ Jack…?  _

Rhys had long since forgotten about the gun that rested beneath his fingers, and had even begun to rise slightly above the cover of his desk. Was this some kind of sick joke? A body-double, maybe? A  _ clone?  _ All he could think about was the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, busy convincing himself that he  _ had _ to have fallen asleep at his desk because there was no way--

“ _ Jack _ ?” This time it was out loud. He resented how raw he sounded but he nevertheless managed to convey how deeply offended he was at the sight of him. Offence was preferable to the number of other emotions he felt in that moment; a kaleidoscope of shock, fear and weariness side by side with relief. Relief! What kind of masochistic reaction was  _ that _ ? 

Yet more troubling was the way in which his heart missed a beat and a lump formed in his throat, conjuring up images of all the miserable times he’d been alone in his thoughts, lingering on the memories of him. Stupid.  _ So  _ stupid. In fact, it was almost embarrassing how many times he’d woken, sweat-soaked and gasping, from dreams such as this - dreams in which Jack cornered him with a dark smile and the command of his right arm, forcing his own hand into crushing his wind-pipe. He’d awoken from just as many where Jack’s menacing grins had been wiped off of his face by Rhys’ fists or lips alike. Despite their differences, in  _ all _ of those dreams Jack had pursued him with the memories and prior knowledge of all they had been through. It had been dream-Rhys’ salvation, giving him means with which to challenge and barter with him. He had no such safety net now.   
Staring into the face of his former role model, it slowly dawned on Rhys that there was a total lack of recognition in Jack’s face. However this great and terrible man had been revived -  _ if _ it was truly him - then it was clear from the steeliness of his gaze that he had absolutely  _ no idea _ who he was. It terrified and hurt him more than anything to date ever had. 

Frozen in shock, Rhys had stalled for far too long. It was then that his former boss turned to one of his guards, notably tipped his head in Rhys’ direction and gave an order with a swift nod. “Hold ‘im, would’ya?”

Rhys remembered the gun too late. “W-Wait--” He gasped, scrambling to brandish it only for the weapon to be shot out of his hand. From there it was only seconds before the infantrymen descended upon him, taking hold of an arm each and half-dragging, half-wrestling him back. They lifted him up as if he weighed nothing at all, the heels of Rhys’ boots scraping across the floor as he went.   
“Nono-nonono, wai-- Jack! Jack,  _ I can explain _ \--!” Rhys cried, struggling every step of the way. He tried to let out a peal of nervous laughter but even that wouldn’t come. When it dawned on him that they were positioning him for an execution, all the colour drained from his face. He was soon forced into standing with his back against one of the floor-to-ceiling window panels that lined this end of his office, arms restrained, helplessly staring at Jack.

The man in question already had a magazine clip in his mouth and was popping the chamber on his pistol, black humour twisting his features. “Uh-- you can explain all y’want, cupcake, but th’ way I see it? Unless you’ve got a space-station the size of this  _ planet _ in your back pocket, I’m takin’ your head clean off,” 

“T-This is about Helios?” Rhys spluttered, his eyes subtly darting as he tried to catch Jack’s eyes. It was as if he’d convinced himself that in doing so he could  _ will  _ their familiarity into his head. Much to his dismay, however, Jack’s downcast gaze didn’t budge.   
“Well, hey, _ top marks and a gold star _ , kiddo. Y’managed to rub two brain cells together,” Holding his pistol up to the light, Jack tipped his head as if he were inspecting it for any damage.

It wasn’t the snarking that got to Rhys. It wasn’t even being called ‘kiddo’. While it had been one thing to suspect that he was a stranger to him, it was another beast entirely to have it confirmed by the man himself. An old wound had just been re-opened - one that Rhys thought he’d stitched up nicely - and the hurt was so palpable that he had to grit his teeth.  _ You hear that? You see how little you mattered, Rhys?   
_ Balling his fists so tight that he dug crescent-shaped impressions into his palm, Rhys felt the leash on his temper slipping. 

“Are you _shitting_ me right now?” He cried, heat rising to his face. The shock and confusion that had grounded him now became second-fiddle to the unbridled anger shooting to the surface. Attempting to jerk his arms free from the infantrymen holding him, he knew he needed to distract Jack from priming his weapon. Beyond that, he needed to make him _see_.   
“As if you left me any _choice,_ Jack! Y-You think I haven’t lived with that? Of how many people I had to sacrifice that day because of _you_?! Helios was my _home_! You honestly think I wouldn’t have followed you into hell and back if you hadn’t shown me just how much of a-- a **_psycho_** you are?” 

Jack hesitated. Unfortunately for Rhys, it was only to shake his head and let out a string of baleful laughter. “Are you-- driving at something here, cupcake? ‘Cause all I hear is a hell of a lotta  _ noise, _ ” 

“ _ GOD _ , you are the most--  _ frustrating _ man I’ve ever met,” Rhys cursed, practically spitting the words through gritted teeth. He meant every single word, putting every fibre of his being behind them. His usually affable face was contorted with anger, feet striking out at the floor as he attempted to gain some purchase with which to stand to his full height. “S-See there’s a pattern with you, Jack, and if it weren’t for you--”

Finally, Jack’s eyes snapped up to meet his. If Rhys hadn’t been so enraged he might have actually felt a shred of fear at the sight of them.   
“‘If it weren’t for me’ _what_?” Jack challenged. Despite the cocksure smile on his face, his mismatched eyes were incredibly dark beneath a pair of furrowed eyebrows. “Y’gonna enlighten me, Reed?”

“It’s  _ RHYS _ !” 

Clicking his tongue in reprimand, Jack’s casual attitude belied just how murderous his intent was. All of a sudden Rhys found himself face-to-face with a raised gun, and the only saving grace - for the moment - was that Jack’s finger was not yet on the trigger. 

“You’re testin’ me with these last words of yours, sweetheart,” He said with forced patience, tilting his head to one side to better see Rhys beyond the barrel of the gun. “If I were you? I’d choose ‘em a  _ liiiittle _ more carefully,”

“‘Last _words’_?” Rhys echoed, dumb-founded. He might have even sounded hysterical. If there was now no chance he’d ever leave his office alive, then he’d go down kicking and screaming, and if there was any opportunity to hit Jack where it hurt then he was seizing it with both hands.   
“You want last words?” He repeated himself, arms straining from the way he leant forwards then. The soldiers tightened their grip on him as he bitterly narrowed his eyes at Jack. “How about: ‘you’re an _asshole’_ ,” 

The words were like bullets, and Jack froze in the wake of them.   
Gleaning their reaction from their superior, even the infantrymen holding Rhys tensed, watching as Jack’s expression shifted to something that was both stunned and enraged. Rhys could practically see the gears of his mind turning fast enough to spin off of their axles - digesting the phrase, recognising that Rhys  _ knew  _ its poignance and, with it, something distressingly personal. 

When Jack spoke next, his voice was as quiet as it was menacing. “... Th’ hell did you just say?” 

It occurred to Rhys that the insult he had just thrown out like a shot in the dark could also be a lifeline. Feeling like a man desperately treading water, he steadied himself, drawing breath. He knew Jack was trying to make some awful conclusion, and he was more than willing to help him reach it. “The last thing your daughter said to you,” He explained; a little snide, maybe - blunt, definitely - but sincere. 

Predictably, his answer rocked Jack to the core. A loaded silence transpired, one pregnant with dozens of questions on both sides.   
Jack had visibly started to twitch, although he attempted to bury his horror quick enough to go unnoticed. Hostility came next, charging his every footstep as he slammed his pistol down onto the surface of Rhys’ desk and furiously closed the gap between them. Grappling hold of Rhys by the collar - prompting the soldiers to let him go - Jack shook Rhys hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. “How in the  _ shit _ do you know about my  _ daughter,  _ asshole _? _ ! Huh?!” 

Head jerking violently back and forth, Rhys nearly bit down on his own tongue as he tried to form the words. He knew he needed to stammer out an answer as best he could, quick, before Jack decided he didn’t want to hear it. “W-We were  _ friends _ , Jack. Friends… partners… whatever you wanna call it,” He didn’t know how it was possible to sound both desperate and spiteful at once, but somehow he managed it. Tenacious enough to hold his gaze, Rhys raised his chin. “So maybe it wasn’t really ‘you’. Maybe it was just an interface with your-- your mania and your inflated ego, but it was real to me.” Unbeknownst to him his face was softening and so was his tone, the words slipping out before he had a chance to stop them. “ _ You  _ were real to me.”

Hands still tightly fisted in the fabric of his shirt, Jack double-blinked, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “...  _ Interface _ ?” He repeated incredulously. No sooner had he said the word than the penny began to drop, descending slowly and chaotically as if in an arcade machine. The older man’s eyebrows soon knotted together as he registered Rhys’ garbled explanation, his eyes widening. Then, as the fog of anger began to clear, Jack’s grip on Rhys’ shirt eased. “Now--- wait, wait-- wait juu-uust a minute there, princess. Are you-- tellin’ me that you got your hands on Nakyjama’s pet project?” 

It was clear Jack was amused - it practically danced in his eyes. Moreover something about the way in which he said it made Rhys feel as if he were being lured into a trap. The threat to his life no longer felt as pressing - instead he felt completely ridiculous, like he was about to be made the butt of some joke. Throwing up a wall, Rhys’ lips drew into a tight line as he averted his gaze. Apparently further amused by his reaction, Jack tipped his head a little closer, the smile on his face both cruel and intrigued. “I detect a  _ liiiiiittle  _ bit of resistance there, Rhysie. What gives? Ol’ digi Jack reeled you in hook, line an’ sinker, huh?”

Rhys didn’t mean to take the bait, but the way in which his body tensed spoke volumes. As Jack let out an obnoxious whistle, Rhys attempted to slap the other man’s hands off of him, a red flush creeping across his cheeks like a rash of shame. Was he  _ really  _ that transparent? God, how he wished the ground would open up beneath him and save him from Jack’s shit-eating grin. 

“Is that  _ it _ ?!” The rising inflection in Jack’s voice trailed off into a cacophony of wild laughter. “Ahahh! You-- You got all goo-goo eyed for my AI? Thought you were  _ special _ ? Ahaha-hahaha!”   
His laughter was unbearable. So unbearable that it fuelled Rhys’s anger. Putting power behind an otherwise unsteady voice, Rhys dared to face him even when every instinct told him to look away. “Eat  _ shit _ , Jack,”   
“Aww, see, that’s cute. That’s real cute,” Still chuckling to himself, Jack raised his hand to pinch Rhys’ flushed cheek. His homicidal thoughts seemed to be temporarily off the table now that he was newly entertained, releasing Rhys from his grip entirely. “So what gives, asshole? You’re tellin’ me my own freakin’ AI tooled you up with what y’needed to take Atlas out from under me?”

They were barely inches apart now, sizing each other up. Rhys’ gaze was hard, unflinching, and it might have been truly threatening had it not been marred by the slight pout to his lips. He made to adjust his dishevelled shirt where Jack had seized it, but in doing so he drew Jack’s gaze to his rumpled collar, and in turn to the chain around his neck that had been revealed in the scuffle. It was clear by the way he squinted that at first he didn’t know what he was looking at - perhaps a contact lens that had been left to dry out and solidify. Impulsively, Jack reached out and gripped hold of Rhys’ wrist, preventing him from concealing it back up. Although Rhys’ heart began to hammer as Jack focused on the ECHOeye, he wasn’t going to risk ignoring the olive branch Jack had unwittingly handed him. Scoffing in a way that made the soldiers either side of him exchange looks, Rhys tugged his wrist free from Jack’s grip and folded his arms indignantly. “Yeah. Guess you could say he did,” 

Jack went from staring through his torso as if he weren’t there to slowly dragging his gaze up to meet his eyes once more, displeasure lining his masked face. He was debating something internally, gaze shifting from the chain at Rhys’ neck, to the port at his temple, and then back to meet his eyes. More specifically, his golden ECHOeye. Rhys should have recognised that calculating expression on his face, but he was too busy preening himself over the fact he’d rendered him silent. Before he knew what was happening, the older man’s hand darted between the open collar of his shirt and tugged the redundant ECHOeye from his neck. 

Rhys’ heart jumped, panic-stricken. 

“H-Hey--!” He made to snatch it back, but - like a scene in a playground - Jack raised his arm and held the component out of his reach. Despite the fact that they were almost exactly the same height, Rhys’ attempts to retrieve it proved fruitless. As he tried to steal it back off of him, Jack placed one of his large hands over Rhys’ face and  _ shoved _ . Falling back against the window, Rhys impacted the thick glass with a thud. He then watched helplessly as Jack stared down at the ECHOeye on the now-broken chain before hamfistedly closing his hand around it.

“Woah,  _ woah!  _ C-Careful with that!” Rhys objected in a shrill voice, panicked as to whether he had crushed it. It was a blow to his morale, to have safe-guarded the AI for so long only for it to be snatched from him in an instant.   
Logging his apparent distress, Jack caught his eyes once more and sneered. After pocketing the eye, he then nodded to the soldiers that had hitherto been superfluous to requirement and gestured his head in the direction of the door, calling them off without words. 

’“Con- _ grat _ -ulations, kiddo; consider this your freakin’ Get Outta Jail Free card,” He jeered, slapping Rhys on the cheek a couple of times. Painfully hard. “You want Atlas? Wanna-- build up the competition and gimme a house o’ cards to smash down? Be my guest.  _ She’s all yours _ ,”   
The way Jack’s tone dropped to a low thrum went right through Rhys. His mouth was suddenly very dry, conscious of the rapid drumming of his heart and a churning sensation in his stomach. 

_ Wait-- Wait, what’s happening here?   
_ Confused as he was, his body recognised the reprieve and relief subsequently flooded through him. While Rhys stared at Jack in open disbelief, waiting for him to explain himself, the older man shrugged and clapped him on the shoulder.  
“C’me on, you just became my new project, kiddo, don’t look a friggin’ gift horse in the mouth. I mean-- can’t exactly see you puttin’ up much of a fight in any corporate war, but I’m gonna  _ enjoy _ tearing you down,” Then, slipping both hands into his pockets, Jack began heading for the door, stopping only at Rhys’ desk to retrieve his own gun.

With Jack putting some welcome distance between them, Rhys let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Stumbling towards his desk after him in a bid to keep himself upright, he looked up at Jack’s retreating back in bewilderment. Was this it? Was this how Handsome Jack was going to walk in (and out) of his life again? No tricks? No machinations? 

“J-Jack?”

The older man visibly flinched. Hunching his shoulders and stalling mid-step, Jack wheeled back around to confront him with a face screwed up in disgust. “Don’t---  **_say_ ** my name like that, idiot,” He snapped, exasperated.  
Rhys hadn’t been particularly aware that he’d said it any sort of way. He might have stammered a little, but-- he’d only been wearily optimistic. “Like-- Like what?”  
Thunderous, Jack began wildly gesticulating, trying to pinpoint the reason why it bothered him so much. “All… needy an’ raspy like some  _ fanboy _ about to fill his pants,” 

_ Oh.  _ Rhys thought guiltily, trying not to look as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He maintained what he hoped was a convincing poker face while Jack continued on, the older man resisting the urge to pace. “I just handed you your ass back, sweetheart, I didn’t invite you to dinner. You wanna be my rival? You got it. I’ll have you bleedin’ money before the end of the week, and on your knees in a month,” 

“On my--?” Raising an eyebrow, Rhys swallowed unsteadily before parrotting his words back at him. “On my knees?”

As the double entendre dawned on him, Jack’s nostrils flared. “Son of a  _ taint!”  _ He cried, one hand carding through his hair in frustration. _ “  _ Y’know what? Forget I said anything. Enjoy your-- stay of execution,  _ Rhys _ ,” Then, turning around for the final time, he began marching purposefully towards the exit. At first his two soldiers lagged behind, awkwardly trying to decide whether they should take up the rear and shield him in case Rhys decided to take pop-shots at their retreating backs. Making up their minds for them, Jack hissed a threat and motioned for them to move on ahead, almost as if he had decided that Rhys were no threat at all. 

Watching him go, Rhys felt the need to say something. Anything. Confliction was rife within him - on the one hand he had so many questions, but more than that, against all reason, he’d  _ missed  _ him. How could you reconcile that? All the words he might have said tangled in his mouth and knotted his tongue, until all that was left was a crushing realisation.  
_ You wanna know the real kicker of it all, Jack? I’d gouged out a part of me when I cut myself free of you. And now you’re here, reminding me just how bad I wanted you back. _

“You’re not gonna regret this,” He called after him instead. Somehow, as cliche as it was, it wrapped up everything he’d been wanting to say in one small package. Something vaguely-threatening, challenging and grateful all at once. 

While Jack didn’t turn from his journey towards the exit, he nevertheless raised a hand in acknowledgement. “Promises, Rhys,” He breezily jeered as he went, calling back over his shoulder. “Promises, promises,” 


End file.
